Darcy did not settle. He reminded me of a caged bear, pacing endlessly from end to end of whichever room he was in. He did not respond to the most basic commands and if we left him in the house we returned to mayhem and a distressed, exhausted dog. He chewed and destroyed so many things – including my treasured recliner chair! No more could I come home from work and settle in that chair with a cup of tea before making dinner!

In an attempt to alleviate the anxiety issues we bought a large dog crate and covered it with blankets, hoping he would see it as his safe haven. He hated it even if we left it open, and if we closed it he whimpered and gnawed at the wire until the top of his nose was raw and sore again.

One day, we were working in the garden so we tied Darcy to a long rope to stop him running out into the road. To say he went berserk is an understatement! You’d think the rope was burning him as he desperately writhed and bit at it to release himself. We managed to calm him down and as soon as we’d unknotted the rope he was panting, his pupils dilated with fear.

Taking him for walks was an ordeal too because he reacted badly to anyone walking behind us, people wearing hats and backpacks, people with walking sticks, pushchairs and wheelchairs. He growled at other dogs.

As if dealing with all that wasn’t hard enough, within a very short time we were to be tested even more.

One Friday, George was away and dad couldn’t have Darcy until the afternoon so I had to take him to work with me. I was setting up a business centre for start-up IT companies on the university campus and I parked my 6 month old car in front of the small, single-storey building where I could see it from my office. Darcy was in the boot, which we’d made cosy with an old duvet, and I gave him some chews to keep him occupied. I went out every half hour to check he was OK, and I took him for walks around the large car park. All seemed fine and I was pleased with him for settling down.

When lunchtime came and I could take him to Dad’s, I strolled out to the car, smiling in at Darcy who was lying curled up in the boot.

I unlocked the driver’s door, took my seat, put the key in the ignition, started to pull my seatbelt down, and …..

Wait a minute. Why was the seat belt damp and slimy?

Come to that, why was there drool on the steering wheel and dash board? Oh good grief! Surely those won’t teeth marks on the indicator stick and handbrake?

With dawning horror I turned my head to see that the dog guard behind the rear seats was askew. Sweat prickled on my brow at the sight of one of the rear seat belts chewed almost all the way through.

In the space of half an hour Darcy had pushed through the barrier and jumped into the front of the car and wreaked havoc. Then he’d had the presence of mind to climb back into the boot and lie down as if nothing had happened!

I was too shocked to be angry, and once I’d made the barrier secure again, I drove out of the car park with my mind whirling.

He’d caused so much damage already, how could we possibly keep him now he’d done this to my almost-new car?

But we’d promised him he would not go back to a rescue centre. We’d promised that we’d do anything it took to turn him around.

A short while later an acquaintance of mine came for coffee and met Darcy for the first time. She stunned me when she said she was psychic and could ‘read’ that Darcy had been tied up in a dark place, probably a shed or a barn, when he was a puppy. He was, she said, strung up by a thick rope, which rubbed his neck sore. She said he’d been left alone, with his litter mates disappearing one one by one and his mother being taken away too until he was on his own in the dark.

I was horrified at the scenario she painted, but of course I had no way of checking if what she said was true. But she piqued my interest in the possibility of communicating with animals and I bought a book on the subject. It made a fascinating read and I got in touch with author, sending a close-up photo of Darcy’s face and eyes and asking for a reading. Her report contained the same details that my friend had given me, plus a direct plea from Darcy not to give up on him.

Two people who didn’t know each other had given me the same story, so surely it was more than a coincidence? The weekly training class was helping quite a bit, but with this information I felt we needed specific help with Darcy’s emotional state.

I found a dog behaviourist and put in a call to him. When Simon* arrived Darcy, who would normally be barking furiously and trying to jump up at any visitor to our door, came skittering in from the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. He then came slowly the rest of the way and sat down in front of Simon, something I’d never seen before.

While Simon asked me questions Darcy’s beautiful golden eyes stayed fixed on him and I figured that he was one of those people who was shy and awkward with people but had a very commanding presence to dogs. When I’d finished describing everything that had happened, including Darcy’s reluctance to return to me on command when he was off-lead, Simon stroked Darcy’s velvety ears and addressing him rather than me, said:

“I think I know your problem. You don’t understand the hierarchy of this household and you’re assuming you’re the alpha. But you don’t want to be, do you? It’s too big a responsibility and you want to be relieved of that burden.”

The next four hours were spent leaving and coming into the house without Darcy. I was to say nothing when I left or when I came back, just behave as if all was normal and nothing was expected of Darcy.

Then we took Darcy for a walk and Simon fitted a remote-controlled collar that gave a puff of air into Darcy’s face if he didn’t respond when he was called to return. It wasn’t painful, it wasn’t punishment, it just broke Darcy’s concentration from sniffing the ground so he would hear me calling. He got it quickly, and came lolloping back happily when heard his name.

When we got home after the free run, Simon asked to be alone with Darcy for a few minutes. I waited outside and have no idea what went on between them, but when Simon called me back in, Darcy was gazing at him with adoration. I was exhausted, but it was obvious that a change had taken place in my dog. He was calm and relaxed and no longer in the ‘fight or flight mode’ he’d been in since we’d adopted him. The set of his body and even his face seemed different, softer.

I don’t know how Simon did it, but from that day on we could Darcy at home and know he would sleep in his bed until we came home. We could take him out and know that he would behave well and come back when called if he was off lead. He particularly loved visiting the beaches near my mum’s house in Wales, where we’d walk for miles on the sands and amongst the rocks.

Everyone who met him adored Darcy. He was still wary of some people, and he loathed sticks being thrown anywhere near him, but he was a wonderful companion. My dad loved him so much he was glad when we went on holiday and left Darcy with him for two weeks at a time, and was most unhappy when we moved from Farnborough to Wiltshire because we were now an hour and a half’s drive away.

But George and I were happy to make that drive often, taking Darcy with us to spend a Saturday or Sunday with Dad.

I’m glad we made the journey as often as we did, because Dad, now in his seventies, was soon to become seriously ill and I would need all the strength I had to face the hardest decision of my life.

*Simon is not his real name. I was sad to learn about a year later that he’d died of cancer.

~~~~~~

J Merrill Forrest is the author of two novels, Flight of the Kingfisher and The Waiting Gate and a collection of poetry, Natural Alchemy. All are available from the usual sources, including Amazon, in paperback or e-book formats.